


All Kinds of Nasty and Fantastic

by sabrina_il (marina)



Category: True Blood
Genre: Character of Color, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/pseuds/sabrina_il
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sookie: What kind of dreams?<br/>Lafayette: Sex dreams, all kinda nasty and fantastic, which freaks me the fuck out because I hates that mother-fucker more than you'll ever know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Kinds of Nasty and Fantastic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brigdh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigdh/gifts).



Lafayette opened his eyes to Eric, stretched out on the mattress, completely naked.

"Good of you to join me," Eric said with a lazy smile. Lafayette could never get used to his accent – with every sound it shifted from familiar to utterly foreign and back again. _One of the quirks of being alive for a thousand years_, Lafayette thought, reaching for Eric's hand and licking down the wrist.

The skin was cool and soft and Eric practically purred when Lafayette's tongue got to his inner elbow. His hands grabbed Lafayette's face – long, strong fingers – and drew him in for a messy, wet kiss. His lips were pale red, like blood diluted with water.

A while later Eric ran his hands down Lafayette's back, bit his ass cheeks playfully, keeping his fangs in check to avoid breaking the skin. He licked inside, until Lafayette was moaning, hands fisting the sheets, yelling and cursing. He fucked Lafayette, slow at first and then faster, groaning and running his hands down Lafayette's chest. Every thrust felt like a spike of pleasure, hot and consuming, spreading over his limbs.

Slowly, without withdrawing, Eric rolled them over to lie on their sides. His hand wrapped around Lafayette's cock, still as cool as the rest of him, and Lafayette gasped, squeezing his eyes shut, until Eric moved inside him again, thrusting deep. Lafayette moaned and grabbed Eric's arm.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Lafayette kept saying, breathlessly, with every thrust. Behind him Eric chuckled, slowly licking his ear.

Eric's hand continued to stroke Lafayette's cock. It was all too much; the delicious pressure building in his stomach was spiraling outwards, coiling around his neck, making it harder to breathe. He was taking deep, gasping breaths, no longer able to form words even if he'd wanted to.

Eric's mouth moved lower, licking down Lafayette's neck. He stilled, letting Lafayette draw in a breath and exhale, and then thrust in hard and bit into Lafayette's skin, making Lafayette scream and come in the same breath.

Later Eric held him close, still under Lafayette's chest, and kissed him, languid and slow, and whispers things in a foreign language that Lafayette knew meant _dear heart_ and _beautiful_.

*

Lafayette woke up feeling refreshed and well rested. It only took him a few seconds to realize there was a wet patch on the blanket. The memories of the dream came rushing back, tumbling like puzzle pieces into his brain until a more or less complete picture presented itself.

Fuck. He needed coffee. Wake the fuck up and shake this out of his bones.

In the kitchen, leaning on the tabletop waiting for the pot to boil, other images came flooding back, as they always did eventually. Eric leaning over him in the filthy cellar, full of piss and blood and death. Eric's teeth cutting into him, drinking despite Lafayette's pleas and promises, until every part of him hurt and he was left lying in the dark, hazy and weak with blood loss.

It would be easy to lie to himself, to try and forget the dreams (because sweet fucking Jesus he'll never forget the memories). But that way leads to denial and repressing and all manner of fucking surprises and he just did not have time to be fucking himself up even worse. _Fuck_ no.

He took a sip of the coffee. Rich and warm and good all the way down to his fingertips. Banishing the memories and fantasies and dreams, leaving him just a little more in control; just a little more himself, in his own body. No. He wasn't going to let this fuck him up any more than it had to. Wasn't going to give those vampire motherfuckers the satisfaction. He could take their vampire bullshit; survival was a game he knew how to play better than anyone alive or dead in this town.

He put the mug on the coffee table and jumped on the couch, stretching out comfortably before turning on the TV. He wasn't due at work until four.


End file.
